


Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall...

by myxstorie



Category: Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 17:26:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myxstorie/pseuds/myxstorie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>PG13; Yara Tomoyuki/Yamamoto Ryota, Tamamori Yuta/Miyata Toshiya (with appearances from various members of Kis-My-Ft2, TheyBudou, Hey! Say! JUMP, Veteran, B.A.D., and other Johnny’s Jr. and Sr.)</i><br/>13,877 words, written for crazy-otaku911 for jerainbowbridge. Much love to everyone who listened to me rant and whine and held my hand ♥ Also to MirrorMask and Rent, which I stole inspiration from. Finally, have <a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?27ak07u2i10u8">a link</a>. I usually don’t like fic that comes with music, but this fic wouldn’t have come about without these songs. They're all by D'espairsRay, and if you'd like the full albums, I'll be uploading those later too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall...

That's how fairytales usually begin, right? They're quick to distance the reader from just about anything that happens within from the start, placing an immeasurable gap of time and distance between the ‘then’ and the ‘now’. This is, of course, because nothing that happens in a fairytale could _ever_ happen in our cosy, modern world. Fairytales are rich and vivid, full of ghouls and goblins and magic and mystery, rivers that run golden and animals that talk. They’re neither cup-half-full nor cup-half-empty, but a cup brimming over, overflowing with the kinds of wonders and terrors that would drive a mortal man crazy.

Fairytales aren’t a part of the real world. They speak of impossible things, things science left behind, things that could only ever happen within the worn, dusty, _safe_ pages of a book.

Except this is not _once upon a time_ , and Yamamoto Ryota does not live in _a land far, far away._

And _this_ is not your average fairytale.

 

 

Ryota loved to dance. Modern, ballet, tap, street, he’d tried and loved them all without bias. As long as he was moving, as long as he could wrap himself around the music and let his body flow with it, he was on top of the world. He’d dance anywhere he could, and didn’t care who was watching - didn’t care if _nobody_ was watching. He craved the thrill of performing, often coercing Ryu into going out with him to dance for the people on the streets of Tokyo, but there was something to be said for being alone, not having a routine to follow and not having anyone to impress or disappoint.

Dancing was Ryota’s excitement, his happiness, his relaxation, everything all rolled into one. In fact, that’s exactly what it was. _Everything._

Flinging himself into a final back handspring, Ryota’s palms pressed down against the floor for the split second it took his momentum to turn him upright again, and he finished with a bounce, light on the balls of his feet. He glanced to his left and saw Ryu mirroring him completely, then shared a grin with his friend. Perfectly timed, as always. Their shoulders even rose and fell with heavy breaths in time with each other, exhilaration shining in their eyes as they headed back to the benches together. The rest of the dancers gradually filtered out until it was just the two of them, cooling down and stretching their muscles out.

Ryu was the only person Ryota knew that loved dancing almost as much as he did, felt the same rush, the same _life_ in it. They’d met during their first dance class together way back when, before they knew what a box or lock step was, before they could complete more than two chainés without getting dizzy, before they’d even _heard_ of the grapevine as anything other than where wine - and gossip - came from. They fell into friendship as naturally as they fell into step with one another, and soon became the best of friends - although Ryu would probably never say it like that out loud.

“Coming over tonight?” Ryota asked, and Ryu shook out his arms and reached for his water bottle, taking a long gulp before shrugging his shoulders.

“Maybe.”

Ryota grinned at Ryu’s reflection and nudged his friend with his shoulder. “Come oonnn, why not?”

Ryu shrugged nonchalantly again, but Ryota caught a hint of a smile around his mouth. “Maybe I don’t want to.”

“No way!” Ryota screeched, and started to dig incessantly at Ryu’s ribs with his elbow, “You wouldn’t be so mean! Pleeeease, come on!”

Ryu shoved at him with a laugh, and Ryota shoved back, knowing he’d won. What he _hadn’t_ planned on was Ryu toppling backwards into the mirrored wall. Before he even had time to gasp, the back of Ryu’s shoulder slammed into the glass and there was a stomach-turning crunch. The glass splintered and split and Ryu dropped like a stone, barely catching himself with his other hand before he hit the floor.

A small, distressed sound fell from Ryota’s lips and he fell to his knees, the jarring shock of bone on wood shooting pain straight up along his back. He started to reach out, wanting to help, but stopped himself touching at the last moment in case he did any more damage, hands hovering awkwardly in midair.

“Are you okay?” He breathed softly, eyes wide and voice shaking as Ryu grunted in pain, brow furrowed tightly. The other man rolled his shoulder carefully once, twice, then winced and tried it a third time before he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think so. It’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry!” Ryota panicked, laying his hands on Ryu’s forearm, “I didn’t know you’d fall over! I’m really, really sorry!”

Ryu shook him off and gave him a tight smile, sitting up a little straighter. He reached up to rub at his shoulder with his other hand, and stretched his neck out. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” Ryota said softly, a pout forming on his lips as the guilt began to settle on his shoulders.

“I know you didn’t,” Ryu replied, and his smile was a little more genuine this time. “Really, it’s fine.”

Ryota’s nod was more of a bow, and he jumped to his feet to help Ryu up. Once he was standing, his friend turned to look at the broken mirror.

“Sensei’s gonna kill us.”

Then it was Ryota’s turn to wince as he took in the damage. The crack wasn’t just deep, it was long, stretching outwards from the centre where Ryu had hit it, down to the floor and up almost to his head. It must have been hit a fair few times before for it to crack so badly like that, Ryota thought, but that probably wouldn’t make their dance choreographer go any easier on them. He stepped closer and watched the way his reflection distorted around the damage, as if the mirror wasn’t merely reflecting what was in front of it anymore, but showing an entirely different version of what surrounded them. Ryota reached out to trace a finger along the split in the glass, then paused.

“...Do you hear that?

Ryu frowned, listening with his face as well as his ears, then pursed his lips. “Hear what?”

Ryota moved closer still, and the sound got louder. It was almost like a draft, the soft, uneven whistling of air through a very small gap, and he jerked his hand away from the crack as he felt something touch it. Holding his palm upwards, the light glinted off a single drop of water.

“Oh, no,” Ryu groaned, “Please don’t tell me we’ve broken a pipe too. If we flood the place we won’t just be in trouble, we’ll be out.”

But Ryota wasn’t listening. It didn’t sound like a broken pipe at all, it sounded like... like... like rain beating against a metal roof, like wind rushing through the trees. He leaned right in, and the sounds got louder as he pressed an ear against the mirror. The glass was cool on the side of his face but _freezing_ around the crack itself. He pressed both hands to the glass to push himself away from the ice-cold wind, but they touched nothing, just kept on going and suddenly there was nothing _there_.

Instead he was falling, down and down, falling so fast it was almost like flying, hair whipping around his face and stinging his cheeks. He couldn’t find the breath to cry out, everything crushing his lungs by the sheer power of it all, falling, falling and turning round and round until left was right and up was... up was _up_ , because he _was_ flying, higher and higher into the unending darkness that wasn’t so dark once he pried his eyes open against the angry rush of air, wind, a _tornado_ dragging him along with it and _what goes up must come down_ and-

The freezing burn of rain, _hailstones_ , shocked the jumble from Ryota’s head, but he was still flying, sailing through the air on the force of the storm, half terrified and half amazed with no room left for anything else. Suddenly, he dropped, stomach flying up into his throat before another violent gust caught him and lifted him higher again, yanking him about as if he were no more than the smallest, lightest of leaves.

Something flashed, and was followed by the most deafening roar Ryota had ever heard, audible even above the storm, and he was falling again, faster than ever before, could practically see the ground rushing up to meet him. Another rush caught him briefly, but dropped him soon after, then another carried him further before releasing him to the mercy of the hard, unforgiving earth.

 

 

“-up, wake up, come on, wake up...”

Ryota groaned and felt his head loll to one side of its own accord, then immediately winced in pain. His neck throbbed angrily, and when he tried to open his eyes, they didn’t seem to be feeling any more cooperative.

“Hey! I think he’s awake!” Hands were on his shoulders, shaking none too gently, and Ryota groaned again in protest.

“Ryu,” he managed to get out around a tongue that felt thick enough to choke him, and even that one syllable seemed to slur, “Ge'off.”

“He’s awake!”

“Try sitting him up!”

“No! Don’t move him too soon, you might make it worse!”

No more talking, no more, please just, just, his _head_...

“We’ll never know if he just lies there!”

“ _No_ , don’t move him. We’ve probably done enough damage bringing him down here already.”

“But-”

“Just get out of the way already.”

Ryota’s temples ached in protest of the noise, and he grumbled softly. “Sh'up.”

There was a soft hissing sound, then a mass of shuffling, until eventually, _finally_ , it was blissfully quiet.

He sighed happily - as happily as he could whilst feeling like he’d done five rounds with a pro boxer and lost, anyway - and relaxed his muscles again, fully prepared to let sleep pull him back under.

But whoever was still lurking was apparently having none of that.

“Don’t go back to sleep again. You could have a concussion, and you might not wake up next time.”

“Urgh,” Ryota said eloquently.

They chuckled, and he heard someone settling down next to his head.

“At least try and open your eyes for me,” they said softly, and something inside him couldn’t refuse. He frowned, brow furrowing as he tried to get his eyes under control, then before he knew it there was a sliver of light peeking between them and the less he tried, just like when he laid in bed at night unable to sleep, the easier it became to pry his stiff eyelids apart.

It wasn’t bright, but there was still enough light to sting, and he immediately flinched away from it. Before he could give up completely there was a hand on his face and he couldn’t resist opening them again, just to see who this person was. It couldn’t be Ryu, because Ryu’s touch would never be so gentle. If it was Ryu it would also mean that the storm that had hauled him around like a puppet was some kind of incredibly realistic dream - and his body certainly didn’t seem to think it had been a dream.

The face that was hovering above him dispelled the last of his doubt - it definitely wasn’t Ryu. Whoever this was was male, but that was definitely where their similarities ended. He had the most piercing eyes Ryota had ever seen, dark and deep and endless, with two tiny creases at the corner of each one, a mouth that looked like it was used to smiling more than it frowned, and dark, dark hair that fell across one side of his face - not enough to obscure, but enough to be mysterious and just a little bit alluring. But it was his skin that really grabbed Ryota’s attention. He blinked a few times in the soft light, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him - concussion after all, he’d said - but no matter how many times he closed them and opened them again, nothing had changed. The smooth, tanned skin of this man's cheeks was marred by tiny, almost tiger-like stripes which crept upwards towards his hairline where they blossomed into a mottled grey-brown pattern before eventually fading and disappearing into the inky black of his hair. It carried on around his jaw down to his neck, where the markings were larger and more prominent, until they vanished to nothing again at the pale skin - even paler than his face - of his collarbones. But even more surprising than this was what Ryota could see peeking out from amongst his hair - two small, brown, triangular-shaped ears atop of his head, tipped with black.

Ryota stared, and the man grinned.

“Hi.”

“... Hi...” Ryota breathed.

“How you feeling?”

“Uh...” Ryota blinked, then really registered the question. “Ow.”

The man laughed again, and the sound alone made Ryota feel a little better.

“You’re lucky we found you when we did, it’s nasty out there.”

Ryota nodded, remembering the way the wind had tossed him around and all the awe-inspiring, _terrifying_ feelings that it had filled him with. He pushed himself up to lean on his elbows, wincing as his back protested. “What _was_ that?”

“The storm?” The man asked, then shrugged. “It’s just how it is here right now. Everyone’s so scared that the tornado and the rain and the hail keeps getting worse. And the more upset they get, the worse the storm gets.”

His ears drooped slightly, and Ryota found himself staring at them.

The man grinned. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Ryota quickly looked away and shook his head, before peeking back up, unable to tear his eyes away for long.

“Whadd’you think?” One of his ears twitched, and Ryota jumped. The man laughed again, but it wasn’t malicious, too full of warmth to ever be anything meant to harm. “Everyone here’s like this, you’ll see.”

Maybe he should feel more surprised, Ryota thought, maybe he should be freaked out. Maybe he wasn’t handing things in the way he was _supposed_ to, but this man... cat... person hadn’t tried to hurt him; seemed to have done the exact opposite, in fact. The panic had come when he was being thrown around in the storm, and this was ten, twenty, a _hundred_ times better than that.

“So tell me,” the man said, nonplussed by the way Ryota wasn’t doing very much talking, his eyes sparkling so brightly that Ryota found he’d already forgotten what had come before, “How did a human end up out there like that?”

Ryota paused. His memory, cloudy and lethargic, was already struggling to keep up. In the end it didn’t matter, because he wasn’t given a chance to respond at all.

“Oi, Yara!” Came a shout, “Is he dead?”

The man - Yara, apparently - turned to frown at someone behind them, and Ryota took a moment to look around. He _wasn’t_ dead, after all.

Wherever this was, it was dark, shadows crowded together in the corners, shivering and shuddering as far away as they could get from the crackling fire in the centre. The light from the flames danced across walls that looked crudely carved, as if whoever had built this place had been in a hurry. Ryota sniffed, and underneath the ash and burnt wood there was a soft, earthy smell, the kind that made him think of rolling around in the grass after the rain. It hadn’t been _built_ , he realised with a start. It had been _dug_.

“Of course he’s not dead,” Yara was saying, and Ryota peered into the darkness in search of the owner of this new voice.

He jumped again, so violently this time that it made his bruises sing, when a body seemed to materialise out of the wall. The head and torso came first, followed by the arms and legs, and finally, the feet and hands appeared, and the person was complete.

“Don’t scare him like that, Fumi,” Yara admonished, but there was no real irritation in it. He almost sounded a little bit amused.

Fumi ignored him anyway and approached Ryota, who swallowed and tried his best not to shuffle away. This man had a nice enough face, even with the lustrous jade scales that snuck along his cheekbones and protruded from his hair in a wide crest, but appearing out of nowhere was generally a quality that made Ryota nervous.

"Fumi's part chameleon," Yara told him, clearly sensing Ryota's discomfort. "He thinks it's funny, hiding like that. I think he's just funny in the head."

Ryota sniggered, but Fumi just smiled widely.

“Hi!” He said, holding out a hand, “I’m Kawai. How do you like our cave?”

 

 

The cave - or caves, as Ryota soon found out - had been carved out centuries before, when the threat of war was imminent. They were joined by a network of tunnels that were more like a maze, designed to confuse anyone who wasn’t familiar with the layout into getting lost - and staying lost. He hadn’t needed to ask why they were hiding down here after his encounter with the angry storm. Yara had explained, incredibly briefly, why the storm was raging - _most humans think the weather can influence their emotions, but they don’t realise that it’s really the other way around_ \- which had given Ryota an idea of the torment this place must be in to have caused something so terrifying, and as more of Yara’s companions joined them, he learned more and more about this place, and these people.

The storm wasn’t as horrifying everywhere else as it was near the caves. Many of the citizens had fled to the borders, where the weather was calmer. When Ryota had asked why they had stayed here, and why they hadn’t followed everyone else, they had all turned solemn. A kind-faced creature - who looked more mole than human and called himself Yabu - explained that their king, Koichi, had gone missing, and they were the only ones who had stuck around to try and find him.

They had all shared a sorrowful look at that, and Ryota felt just how lost they all were. He imagined such a thing happening in Japan and knew there would be nationwide panic, but the world would keep on turning and the country would still continue on as normal. It wouldn’t collapse in on itself like this place seemed to have done, losing all will to do anything without a King to watch over them.

He also learned that long, long ago - once upon a time, almost - these two worlds, these strange creatures and the world he called home, had lived together as one.

“They left that out of the history books, huh,” Takaki had laughed. The bright-eyed boy had the most incredible blue-green cheekbones and hair Ryota had ever seen, but the elegance was ruined by his bill-shaped mouth and wide, flat feet, which took away just about any chance of grace he might have had. He’d grinned until a blank-faced man with flickering antennae - who, from certain angles, looked disconcertingly like a cockroach - had elbowed him and accused him of never reading a history book in his whole life.

Yabu just smiled fondly and went on to tell him that the stories said the humans began to be poisoned by their own feelings of self-importance, and the peace had been shattered by rebellion. Unwilling to allow his people to be enslaved by what the humans were becoming, their King had discovered a ritual that could split their world in two, and with the help of some of the more genteel humans, he took his people to safety.

“How did I end up here, then?” Ryota asked, then jumped when a hand settled on his shoulder. He whirled around to find a man with more feathers than hair standing behind him. They swept back from his face, brown and white and gold swirling together like a waterfall flowing over his head and down his throat. His tiny nose curved down until it was almost one with his mouth, stained black in the center but curled up at the sides in a grin that pulled at his whole face and made his piercing golden eyes shine in the firelight.

“You fell through a crack,” Takki replied.

 

 

Tamamori watched the cluster of chatter from a safe distance, torn between the urge to get a better look at the newcomer and wanting to keep far, far away. He didn’t need to see him to know he was human, could already feel the pull like a chain around his throat trying to drag him closer, and he pressed his back firmly against the wall, feet digging into the earth.

_No._

He hadn’t felt this way for years, and he wasn’t planning on giving in to it now. Not now, not when he’d come so far. He ran his fingers through the feathers of his hair, smoothing them back from his face, and drew in a long, calming breath, hoping to settle the parasite inside him. It did nothing to help, so instead he clenched his jaw and his fists, digging the beginnings of talons into his palms. He’d been clipping them back, but they'd all had more important things to think about now that the King was missing, and they’d started thickening and sharpening into deadly points again. The pain helped, just a little, and he found he could breathe again.

He was relieved when Miyata broke away from the crowd and came to crouch beside him, the other man’s presence alone settling his nerves. His smile was bright enough that the parasite cowered beneath the force of it, and when he reached out to take Tamamori’s hand, it shrank back to nothing. Miyata uncurled Tamamori’s fists and ran the tips of his fingers across the deep red gauges left there, gently soothing the sting.

“You okay?” He asked gently, and Tamamori nodded.

“Am now. He’s human, isn’t he?”

Miyata nodded. “Certainly looks it. How you holding up?”

“I’ll be fine,” Tamamori promised, and right now, looking up into Miyata’s trusting gaze, he meant it.

Miyata hummed and sat down next to him, shuffling around until they were pressed together from shoulder to foot.

“They’re telling him so much,” Tamamori thought out loud, “We don’t know anything about him, and they’re telling him everything.”

“Not quite _everything_.” Miyata replied, and Tamamori pursed his lips. “Besides, what does it matter? However he got here, either they called him through and he escaped, or he...”

“You know that’s just a story.” Tamamori scoffed when Miyata paused heavily, but he couldn’t deny that the pull he’d felt was stronger than he ever remembered it being before.

Miyata nodded again resignedly, his long, floppy ears drooping even more than usual, and Tamamori imagined his face if he gave in. He saw the hurt, the betrayal, the _disappointment_ in those warm, round eyes, and his throat tightened so much that his next breath rattled as it left. In his peripheral vision he could see Miyata watching him carefully, and the other man must have seen something he didn’t like because he clambered to his feet and pulled Tamamori with him.

“Come on,” he said, already leading him away by the wrist, “Let’s go somewhere else.”

 

 

Over the next few days, Ryota soon discovered that these people looked up to Takki as someone they couldn’t be without. He wasn’t their King by any stretch of the imagination, but for all his smiling and laughing and messing around with them, he commanded a certain authority that they wouldn’t even consider doubting. He wasn’t just a leader to them. He was, Ryota realised as he watched two tiny boys gaze up at Takki with unblinking eyes, a _father_.

Tatsumi, a tall man with high, white-tufted cheekbones, a shock of red hair and a long, curving fox tail had hummed thoughtfully when Ryota mentioned this to him, then nodded, almost to himself.

“Takki brought us all together,” he said, “In a fashion, anyway. Everyone else ran away from the trouble, but some of us couldn’t just leave like that, not when the King’s-” Tatsumi halted all of a sudden, as if he’d said something he shouldn’t, but quickly moved on. “Missing. And... some of us got left behind.” He motioned towards where the smallest, mouse-like boy, Aoi, was surreptitiously sidling closer to Takki’s legs, “So there wasn’t even a choice. Takki looks after us all.”

Ryota watched as Takki continued talking to Yokoo, whose hair was black but for a long white stripe down the centre, and without showing any sign of distraction, settled a hand on the back of Aoi’s head. The small child huddled against Takki’s legs, and Takki’s thumb began to stroke softly along his shoulder as though it was as natural a thing to do as breathing.

Nostalgia bubbled up thick and heavy in Ryota’s throat, and his stomach twisted and clenched in a way it hadn’t for years. He wasn’t given a chance to dwell on his feelings though, quickly distracted by something distinctly like a war cry as a flash of green and hair shot past him. Nikaido, a dark-haired man with a wide, lopsided grin, whirled around just in time to catch the bundle of person that crashed into him, and they both tumbled to the floor.

“Grnngh,” Nikaido said.

“Nika!” The bundle cried, planting webbed hands covered with brown-green scales on either side of Nikaido’s head, “They’re chasing me!”

Nikaido’s hands had gravitated to the other man’s waist, but he quickly pulled them away and shoved him unceremoniously to the floor. “What the hell, get off me.”

“Nikaaaa,” he whined with a pout, and pushed himself to his feet. Scales dusted his temples and throat too, and where his shirt had ridden up during the scuffle Ryota could see the beginnings of what looked like a mottled brown shell. “Don’t be mean.”

Nikaido rolled his eyes theatrically, but took the other man’s hands when he reached out to pull him up from the floor. He made a show of dusting himself off, reaching around to brush the dirt from his backside and the tiny fluffy tail that poked out from the gap between his jeans and his shirt, then dusted his hands off and flicked his long, white ears back. Then, finally, he spoke.

“What am I supposed to do about it, Senga? You’re always winding them up, so they’re always chasing you.”

Senga’s pout deepened and he huffed, folding his arms across his chest. Nikaido sighed, and Ryota wondered who ‘they’ were.

“Sorry, Kenpi,” Nikaido said, voice a little softer this time, and Ryota wasn’t sure why Nikaido was the one apologising when Senga had knocked him over in the first place. Senga brightened, but just as he looked about ready to throw his arms around Nikaido’s neck, a second flurry of activity burst in, and Senga shoved Nikaido in front of him like a barrier instead.

“Save me!”

Nikaido rolled his eyes a second time and half-heartedly threw his arms out to the sides in protection. His whole body rocked when Senga elbowed him in the back - presumably for not doing it properly - and he grumbled under his breath, but took a better stance anyway. Ryota thought that for all his grouching and protesting, he must secretly enjoy it, at least a little.

“Oi, Senga!” The person at the head of the group yelled, a rough edge to his voice and a glare on his brow that was made all the more threatening by his jet black hair and face, “Get back here! We’re not finished!”

Given how sinister the group looked, Ryota thought the others should at least be _slightly_ more worried about Senga’s well-being, but most of them weren’t even paying attention to the feud that seemed about to break out.

“You guys don’t play fair!” Senga protested from over Nikaido’s shoulder, “Junta cheats!”

“I do not!” Junta shouted, the black and silver pattern on his face shimmering like scales as he moved closer. His hair, also striped with black and silver, stuck up in the center, almost like a dorsal fin, and he had two incredibly long silver whiskers on either side of his chin that floated through the air as he moved.

There was movement behind Senga and Ryota saw Takaki creeping up slowly with a mischievous glint in his eye, using Senga's distraction to his advantage. He got an arm around Senga’s throat just as the others all barrelled into the cave, and Senga yelled, thrashing. The one with the black face went straight for Nikaido, who went down easily and left the rest of them to bear down on Senga, his almost gleeful screeches deafening in their intensity as Junta helped Takaki manhandle him to the floor. Senga kicked his legs, already laughing, until two other boys sat on them and the tickling began.

Senga’s laughter and cries of surrender echoed off the walls, and when he met Yara’s smiling eyes across the heads of the wrestling boys, firelight dancing across his features, Ryota couldn’t stop himself from grinning along too.

 

 

Later that night, when the excitement had died down and the fire had been extinguished, everyone had clustered together in the smallest cave for warmth, wrapping their blankets tightly around themselves. Yara had given Ryota one of his, and the two of them huddled together amidst the sea of bodies, sharing as much heat as they could. Gradually, one by one, everyone began to fall asleep, but despite having such an eventful day, Ryota was anything but tired.

"I knew you were one of them right from the start," Yara said softly, suddenly, voice low while those around them slept.

Ryota rolled onto his side, tucking his hands underneath his cheek to face the other man in the darkness, and tried to ignore the hard press of earth beneath him.

"One of who?" He asked, puzzled. He thought it was fairly easy to tell just by looking at him that he wasn't from around here. In comparison to everyone else he'd met, his skin was clear, his hair was a single, boring shade, and he wasn't sprouting any feathers or claws from strange places. "What?"

"A Carrier," Yara said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"...A what?" Ryota said again, and Yara chuckled to himself. The sound made Ryota's skin tingle despite the cold.

"A long time ago," Yara murmured, and it was like the two of them were sharing a secret, "everyone Carried. But you know how things are, some people's blood was less-"

"Blood?" Ryota interrupted, then whined to himself, "Why does there always have to be blood..."

Yara waited for him to finish huffing, then carried on as if he'd never paused, "Some people's blood was less potent than others, and the strains got thinner and thinner over the generations."

Ryota nodded, realised Yara couldn't see him, and hummed quietly instead.

"All animals still Carry a little - dogs are great empaths, and cats," Ryota could _hear_ the smirk in Yara's voice, "can see really well in the dark, but it's all but died out in humans. They aren't as choosy about who they breed with."

"We sound horrible when you say it like that..." Ryota mumbled with a pout, and immediately heard the rustle of Yara shaking his head.

"Humans are amazing. You're so full of _feelings_ and emotions and... no amount of Carrying can ever compare to that. Anyway," he continued before Ryota could really register the compliment past the sentimental touch to Yara's voice, "I was telling a story, before you distracted me."

Ryota knew he was being teased, but he kept obediently quiet anyway.

"The only true Carriers left that we know of are part of our Royal bloodline. It's still pure, still strong, but now the King is the only one left. So unless he can find a female Carrier to continue on the line, it's going to fade out here too."

Ryota was quiet for a moment, before he asked, "How do you know I'm one?"

"We just _know_ ," Yara replied. "I can't explain it, just like you can't explain why you make the decisions you do, or why you're drawn to the people you are. But you are, I know it. You've got a talent, haven't you? Something you're better at than everyone around you, something that makes you happier than you can ever remember being?"

Ryota nodded, then murmured, "I like to dance."

"Oi." A third voice piped up from somewhere amongst the maze of bodies curled up in various states of slumber, "Whoever it is whispering. Either go somewhere else and talk, or shut up and go to sleep."

Yara's soft, awkward laugh came more from his nose than his mouth, and he finished his story even more quietly than before.

"There was always talk about human Carriers still existing, but nobody ever really believed it was possible, and... I always thought it was just a story. But _you_..." He whispered fondly, and Ryota could hear him shifting closer, before there was breath on his earlobe, "You're something else."

That night, Ryota fell asleep with warmth at his side and a smile on his face.

 

 

The next morning, they were woken by a shout.

Almost everyone else was already awake and mulling around quietly whilst the final few of them joined the land of the living. It took Ryota a few moments to pry his eyes open, the soft crackling of the new fire they’d started doing its best to lull him back to sleep, but then there was another yell, louder than the last, and he was up.

Tamamori stumbled out of the main tunnel, half-carrying someone who was sagging more than he was walking. Yara was already on his feet and hurried over to help, easing their other arm around his shoulders so that Tamamori wasn't carrying an entire person on his own.

"What happened?" He asked, at the same moment that Ryota saw the blood.

Miyata shook his hair out of his face, but a few stubborn strands stuck to his damp forehead. "They're starving," he ground out. The pain he was in was only too obvious. "So hungry that they're willing to give us a try now too."

 

 

 

“What did that to him?” Ryota asked softly once Miyata's wounded leg had been cleaned. Yokoo and Yabu had settled him on some blankets, piled up in the smaller cave where they'd been storing food and other supplies, and Tamamori had taken a spare blanket in there with him. They'd tried to encourage him out to let Miyata sleep, but Tamamori was stubborn as an ox despite his bird-like appearance, and he'd stayed.

Yara had moved away from everyone else, leading Ryota through the maze of passages until it was quiet, and they sat with their backs pressed against one side of the tunnel. The oil lamp they'd brought sat on the floor by their feet and Yara was moving his feet in front of it so that they cast tall shadows on the walls around them.

"One of _them_ ," he said eventually, emphasising it as if the word could be a name. “They used to be like us.”

Ryota listened to Yara’s breathing for a moment, slow and steady, and found himself unconsciously matching the other man’s pace.

“Who are they?” He asked eventually, when Yara didn’t seem to plan on explaining any further without a little encouragement.

“Who?” Yara laughed, the sound cold and humorless, and Ryota fought the need to wrap his arms around himself. “Not who, not anymore. They lost any humanity they might have had a long time ago.”

He was quiet for another long moment, staring up at the shadows on the walls like they could fix everything, like they held all the answers. Eventually, he seemed to realise that he wasn’t going to find whatever it was he was looking for, and let his head fall back against the wall.

“They feed on humans. Human flesh, blood, marrow, the whole nine.”

Ryota gasped and turned his head to face Yara, eyes wide. “What? Why?”

“In the beginning,” Yara said softly, sadly, “Back when our worlds weren’t separated like this, they... They _liked_ it. That’s how it began, generations of families feeding on human flesh because they _enjoyed_ it. They hid it for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years, until eventually they couldn’t _survive_ on anything else. That’s when it started getting out of hand, and the humans began to notice their people going missing, or turning up dead.”

“They sound like vampires,” Ryota shuddered, and Yara shrugged.

“All legends have to start somewhere.”

He sighed, and Ryota scooted closer without thinking, tilting his head to rest on Yara’s shoulder. By the time he’d noticed what he’d done, Yara was already leaning on him, and it was too late to move even if he'd wanted to.

“That’s really why they cast us out,” he said. “They couldn’t trust us any more. The King knew he had to make a choice, and instead of starting a war, he chose to save his people. Of course, no race wants to tell its children they were banished, so they left certain parts of the story out when they passed it on.”

“But why would he save them too?” Ryota asked, “The ones that started eati- ...everything.”

Yara shrugged, a loaded gesture that made Ryota’s head bob with the motion of it.

“They looked like any one of us back then, and the King wouldn’t do anything without hard proof. Even if he had it, maybe he couldn’t have left them behind or killed them himself anyway.” Yara lowered his voice even more, although they were already alone, “Some of the stories say he was one of them, which is why he chose to save them all... and why he left the cracks behind. He left them a way to feed.”

 

 

When they eventually returned to the others, the already despondent mood had taken a turn for the worse. Bleak faces greeted them, the sudden quiet jarring in comparison to the loud, boisterous atmosphere Ryota had quickly grown used to. Takki was nowhere to be found, but Yabu approached them as they hovered in the entrance, his face ashen. His expression was carefully blank, but Ryota could see the first signs of despair creeping in around the edges. His mouth was pulled into a tight line, and his eyes appeared more sunken than they had been before, a dark, dull curtain pulled across them and at complete odds to the cheerful, smiling face he’d seen before.

“Poison,” he choked.

“What?” Ryota asked, more breath than speech. Yara stiffened beside him, and Ryota’s heart crept up into his throat.

“They poisoned him,” Yabu replied, voice shaking. “Takki said he’d heard, but never really believed, and-” His voice cracked, and he leaned easily on Takaki when the other man shifted closer and slid an arm around him. “-and if his body can’t fight it it, it’ll- it- he won’t-”

“He won’t make it.” Takaki supplied, deep voice even lower than usual. Yabu drew in a shaking breath and Takaki squeezed gently, his fingers tightening visibly on the other man’s shoulder.

“Takki said he knew somewhere they could go for some medicine to dull the pain, so he took Tatsumi and some of the older guys up with him.”

“Up?!” Yara interrupted, and Yabu nodded desolately.

“He didn’t say anything else, just that they’d be back as quickly as they could.”

“They’ll be back,” Takaki murmured softly, and Yabu let the other man lead him away, “They’ll be fine.”

“They went up?” Ryota asked, keeping his voice quiet. He felt like he was about to be sick, stomach roiling anxiously, and was grateful when Yara tugged him to the floor. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, but his arm was bare where he pressed their shoulders together, and Ryota welcomed the touch, however small.

“Into the storm,” Yara said. “We have to, sometimes, for food and water, but... ever since Chura...” His eyes glistened in the firelight, and Ryota’s arms ached with the urge to hug him.

“Chura?” He asked instead, and placed his hand over the top of Yara’s, feeling the scrape of jeans against his palm.

“My sister,” his friend whispered, “Kind of, I guess.” Yara was blinking fiercely now, staring straight ahead, but his face was blank, unseeing, and when he spoke it was almost like he was talking to himself. “My parents found her when she was just a baby. She wouldn’t leave for the borders with them, so I was supposed to look after her and now she’s... She went up to the surface to look for stragglers, people caught in the storm, and... she didn’t come back.

“And now Takki and Tatsumi have gone too, and Miyata... If we lose Miyata, Tamamori won’t be able to...” He trailed off, and Ryota squeezed his hand through the denim separating them.

“Tamamori won’t be able to what?” He asked softly, more out of a need to keep Yara talking than to satisfy his own curiosity. He _was_ curious, that much he couldn’t deny, but in short time he’d known Yara, he hadn’t seen anything quite as scary as the blank, lost look the other man had on his face just then.

Yara turned to face him, face grim. “Tamamori used to be one of them.”

 

 

Tamamori couldn’t remember the beginning. He remembered growing up in the dark, knew he didn’t look like the rest of them, felt odd and ugly because he had such straight teeth instead of long, sharp ones, and he was covered with soft, brown feathers and creamy skin where the rest of them had nothing but coarse, black fur. He’d asked once, when he was too small to know any better, why he looked so different to the rest of them, and had found out that he’d originally come from the surface. His biological parents had abandoned him, terrified, when they found him curled up next to the tattered remains of a human body with blood around his mouth, and he’d been down here ever since. He hadn’t called the human, nor had he killed them, being far too small to manage anything of the sort, but he’d had his first taste. After the first taste, they told him, there was no going back.

As he got older, he learned to call humans himself. Without a strong enough Carrier amongst them, it was impossible for them to cross over and take humans as their ancestors had done without the transition killing them, but there was still enough power lingering for them to reach through the cracks. All Tamamori had to do was find a crack large enough. Humans were incredibly fickle, he found, and even easier to manipulate, if you knew what words to use. Women and children were the easiest, and soon he was enticing them through with ease, far better than any of his companions could ever manage even _with_ the power of a reflection to aid them.

Over time, the darkness became too heavy and oppressive, and Tamamori took to sneaking up to find a quiet, sheltered spot to lay back and soak everything up like a sponge, the lush green grass, blindingly bright sun, the sounds, the smells, the _world_ above him.

It was on one of these mornings when the rest of them were still sleeping that he’d crept out of their home and climbed the crude ladder none of them thought he knew about, the one that would take him up and out. He’d found his favourite spot partway down the hillside, the overhang giving his eyes enough shelter from the brightness of the dawn, and he’d sprawled on his back, arms folded as a cushion beneath his head.

Miyata had been a shadow across his face at first, until Tamamori had blinked his eyes open and seen the other man hovering above him.

“Hi!” Miyata had said brightly, “Mind if I join you?”

Tamamori panicked and scrambled backwards, but only hit the side of the overhang, and whipped his head around frantically searching for an escape. He’d heard terrible things about the people that lived on the surface, and now one of them had him trapped, cornered, with nowhere to go.

“Woah, woah!” Miyata raised both hands in front of him and took a step back, “Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you.” He peered at Tamamori carefully, frowning in a way that made Tamamori want to squirm. “Are you okay?”

Tamamori nodded stiffly and shrank as far back as he could, hoping desperately that this too-bright, too-happy creature would take pity and leave him alone.

“You’re so pale,” Miyata said, his frown only deepening, “And your eyes... Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Tamamori muttered, voice rough and scratchy. None of them talked very much, and although he _could_ , he didn’t do it often enough for his voice to be comfortable with it.

Miyata shrugged, long, furry ears in the same auburn shade has his hair flopping about with the motion, and Tamamori wondered if he’d decided against letting him go free.

“Well, can I join you?” He said simply, and Tamamori gulped, fingers pulling up grass where they were clenching in it. He hastily let go and brushed the green strands from his palms, studying the indentations they’d left behind closely, as if they were the most fascinating things he’d ever seen.

The other man didn’t seem to need an answer, because he flopped down in the grass on his stomach next to him and leaned his chin on his hands. Tamamori saw a thick, fluffy tail twitch and sway gently before it settled across the back of his thighs. It looked so soft that he wanted to reach out and touch it, his hand making it half way before he snatched it back. Miyata must have seen, because he just grinned, showing bright white teeth, and wagged his tail in Tamamori’s direction.

“It’s okay, go ahead. Just don’t pull it, that hurts.”

And that was how it had started. Tamamori had started sneaking out more and more, and more and more Miyata would be there to meet him, hidden beneath the overhang with stories and food and jokes. Tamamori developed quite a taste for the things Miyata and his people fed on, and eventually for Miyata himself after they shared their first, tentative kiss. They carried on this way for months, until Tamamori snuck out one day, and didn’t go back. By the time he was caught searching for a human, Miyata had already figured out what was going on, and instead of running for the hills like Tamamori expected him to, he stayed. 

It took a long time, and Tamamori could still remember the sleepless nights, the cold sweats and burning fevers, the hallucinations and the unbearable, crippling pains as his body yearned for what it couldn’t have, but in the end, when he could stand and look Miyata in the eye and not feel a trace of the urge to reach out for anyone else, it was all worth it.

He couldn’t go back to that, _wouldn’t_ , wouldn’t ever let Miyata down like that, not after everything the other man had been through for him. Miyata had fed him when he hadn’t the strength to eat, held his hand whilst Tamamori cursed at him, and talked to him all night when he couldn’t sleep. Miyata had done everything his parents couldn’t bring themselves to even try, and when Miyata had wanted to stay and help find the King, Tamamori hadn’t even considered not being by his side.

And now the ones he used to call family had hurt the one he loved.

He knelt beside Miyata’s body, his friend convulsing and writhing in pain, and wondered if this was how lost and helpless Miyata felt when he was trying to help him. He looked like someone else was controlling his body, pulling him around like a marionette then letting him drop, boneless and panting when they got bored, only to yank him up again a moment later. Tamamori wiped the cold sweat from his face with a cloth and a bowl of water - the last they had, he knew, but none of them had even mentioned that when they’d brought it to them. He hoped whoever had gone to find more would stay safe.

Miyata looked up at him and Tamamori smiled as best he could, the motion tight around his mouth. He reached for Miyata’s hand and squeezed, brushed the damp hair away from his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead, making the most of it while he could - Miyata’s lucid moments were getting fewer and farther apart. Whether he was lucid or not, the pain never stopped pouring from Miyata’s lips, keening whines turning into rasped howls and groans and cries as the venom ate away at his insides like a billion frantic, rabid parasites trying to claw their way to the surface. He whimpered quietly, and Tamamori leaned down to press their lips together, hoping Miyata wouldn’t notice his tears. 

He couldn’t stop thinking that every time Miyata’s eyes opened, every time they kissed, every time Miyata gazed at him with recognition in those warm, soft eyes, it could be the last.

 

 

Everyone else had gathered in the larger cave when they could no longer bear to watch. Miyata cried out, then choked on a cough, the makeshift door of wood and blankets they had made to give the two of them the illusion of privacy doing nothing to muffle his pain. They didn’t _want_ to be protected from it, Ryota knew.

His eyes only met Yara's for a split second, but it was long enough for him to see the lost devastation all over his face. It wasn't the kind of look he was used to seeing on someone usually so composed, so calm, and it shook him to his very core. In that moment, he realised what Yara already knew, what they were all so scared of. 

Miyata wasn’t going to make it.

Yara must have seen the horrified understanding in Ryota’s eyes, because he pushed himself off of the wall he had been leaning against and came to sit beside him. He nudged until Ryota shifted to give him enough room to slide in behind him, then pulled him back against his chest and wrapped him up in an embrace. Ryota’s arms were pinned to his sides by Yara’s hold, but Yara's chin settled on his shoulder and Yara's breath was soft in his ear, and Ryota leaned back into it, grateful for the comfort. It was unfathomable that he’d only known these people for a few short days, yet had come to care so much for them all that he shared in their laughter, their tears and their pain like he’d always been one of them. Suddenly, he missed home, missed Ryu’s teasing and his mother’s nagging and his safe, normal life, but guilt settled in around him almost as quickly, ugly and sour-tasting on the back of his tongue. He couldn’t be thinking of himself, not when these people who had welcomed him so quickly and easily into their fold, these people who had shared the little food and supplies they had, these people who had treated him like a _friend_ since the day he arrived were suffering so much, were clinging desperately to the hope that everything would be okay. As long as Miyata was crying out in pain, was shouting and groaning and whimpering and breaking their hearts a little more every time, he was still _alive_.

Suddenly, all too soon, there was nothing. Silence, broken only by the sound of their hope shattering.

The space between them did nothing to muffle the heart-wrenching, soul-destroying wail that was ripped from Tamamori's throat.

 

 

Tamamori felt numb.

He had no more tears left to cry, no more voice left to scream. No more heart left to feel. Slumped against the wall as he was, he could see Miyata’s body clearly - and it was just a body, that much he knew, because there was nothing of Miyata left inside it now. Miyata was gone, and Tamamori was alone again.

Alone, except for the hungry parasite inside of him.

 

 

It was so quiet.

Ryota could hear someone crying softly outside, but so far, nobody had said a word. Gradually, everyone had filtered out, moving away from the fire and into the darkness of the tunnels. Maybe they wanted to be alone, maybe they couldn’t bear to be so close knowing what was just behind the flimsy door they’d made, but eventually the cave was as empty as it had been back when Ryota had first opened his eyes.

The cave was too big and too empty for just the two of them, and when Yara slid out from behind him and stood, scooping up a lamp on the way out, Ryota followed without consideration. They nearly fell over Yokoo where he was huddled in one of the passages, hidden amongst the shadows that the lamp couldn’t quite breach, and after one look at his face, Yara dropped down next to him silently.

Ryota stood awkwardly in front of them for a long moment, but then Yara looked up at him and opened his arms. Ryota didn’t have to think twice before taking up his place again, Yara’s arms fitting easily around him.

They were talking softly to one another, words that Ryota wasn’t really focusing on past the warm, gentle sound of Yara’s voice in his ear when suddenly, Yara started, halting mid-sentence and jerking Ryota’s body with the force of it.

“What was that?” He asked, eyes searching for something Ryota couldn’t see, and shared a loaded glance with Yokoo.

“It felt like...” Yokoo started. “But he wouldn’t. Not after...”

“He might.”

Yokoo’s face turned white, and he bolted back down the passage. “Tama!”

 

 

Nothing mattered now. 

And it was easy, really. So easy. Like learning how to breathe, it was something he had never really forgotten. All Tamamori had to do was reach out, and there she was, nightgown loose around her thighs with hair flowing down her back like a silky, black waterfall. He took her hand and she came to him without question, gazing dreamily into his eyes as he pulled her close and leaned in, smelling vanilla and fruit on the curve of her neck.

Miyata was gone.

Closing his eyes and tightening his fingers around her upper arms, soft and supple in his grip, Tamamori lowered his mouth to her throat, and fed.

 

 

“Yuuta!”

The wood gave in easily beneath Yokoo’s weight as he flung himself through it, barely catching himself before he tripped over the feminine body sprawled on the floor. Her throat was a ragged wound, the flesh torn away as if by a wolf or a bear, and her head lolled back at an angle that had never been natural to the human form. Blood stained the front of her white gown and matted her hair, pooling around her where she lay.

“Yuuta...” Yokoo whispered, stepping back from the girl.

“Don’t call me that,” Tamamori growled, looking up from where he was brushing Miyata’s hair from his face in soft, tender strokes. “Don’t _ever_ call me that.”

He glanced down at Miyata’s pale, empty face one last time, then stood and drew the back of his hand across his mouth, blood smearing and eyes blazing as he approached the doorway Yokoo was blocking. Ryota stepped back instinctively at the fire in Tamamori’s gaze, but Yara held his ground behind Yokoo, and neither of them moved.

“Get out of my way.” Tamamori said, voice lower and more terrifying than Ryota had ever heard it.

Neither man moved, and Tamamori’s glare intensified.

“Get. _Out._ Of. My. Way.” He said again, carefully enunciating each word as if they hadn’t heard him perfectly clearly the first time.

“Tama,” Yokoo started, and lifted a hand as if to rest it on Tamamori’s shoulder, “You can’t-”

The moment Yokoo’s fingers touched him, Tamamori flinched away like they burned, and shoved his way past them and through the throng of people that had begun to gather, all of them wearing practically identical looks of worry.

Someone called his name, but Tamamori showed no sign of hearing them, just broke into a jog as soon as he was free, then a run when he reached the mouth of the cave, letting the darkness swallow him whole.

“Get that door back up,” Yokoo shouted, immediately turning to business, “and take the little ones away.”

Takaki and Yabu rushed to pick up the fallen pieces of wood as the younger boys were ushered away from the scene. Yokoo didn’t bother feeling for a pulse or checking to see if the girl was still breathing - there was no need. He scooped her up carefully and laid her on the ground next to Miyata’s body, then spread a blanket over the two of them. When he turned away, Ryota could see his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Find him,” he said softly, for their ears only. “Please.”

 

 

Yara held the lamp in front of them as they walked, lighting the way as best he could. The heavy, impenetrable shadows still bore down on them from every angle, and Ryota pressed himself close to Yara’s side as they searched, hoping for any sign of Tamamori. It looked incredibly easy to get lost down here, and he wondered how Yara managed to keep track of where they were, where they’d been, where they were _going_.

“King Domoto’s line have been trying to put an end to it all,” Yara explained as he led Ryota through the tunnels. He found the distraction of Yara’s voice welcome, and wondered if that distraction was why Yara kept talking, too. “To stop them feeding on humans for good. Takki says King Domoto crossed over once when he was just a boy, and that it was your Prime Minister Nagase that helped him find his way back. Takki says he’s been empathetic towards humans ever since, more so than any of his predecessors.”

“Anyway,” Yara continued as they trudged slowly through the darkness, their small circle of light flickering with every step, “Legend says the King of centuries past forbade them to feed on humans, but he didn’t understand that instinct and survival run far deeper than any loyalty to him did, so when that didn’t work, he banished them down here, hoping that would cut off their supply. He thought that without anything to give them a reflection, they wouldn’t have a crack strong enough.”

“A reflection?” Ryota questioned when Yara paused to check where they were. He had no idea how the other man could possibly tell - every wall and corner down here looked the same to him - but eventually Yara seemed satisfied, and they were moving again.

“Haven’t you ever looked at your reflection and wondered about the world behind you? The King thought that was how the cracks were formed, because of the power a reflection holds.”

Something blinked sleepily in Ryota’s mind and, as if it had been waiting for that little nugget of information, the memory of what had come before he’d found this place, the dancing and the wind in the mirror, awoke. “So why didn’t it work?”

Yara smiled, but there was no happiness in it. Ryota didn’t like seeing such a bitter expression on the other man’s face, and was glad when it was gone.

“It’s true that reflections cause the strongest cracks, but they aren’t the _only_ cracks. Not everything that looks like a crack is one, but anything that looks like one _could_ be one. He banished them to these caves and the darkness, hoping to cut off their food supply. But they found other cracks. It was difficult, but there were still those among them that Carried enough to reach through and feed the rest. Now they're getting old, fading, dying, and because the younger ones can't provide well enough, they're _hungry_. But they’ve become too dependant on humans for any other kind of flesh to do the job.”

Ryota shivered, nodding, but Yara didn’t seem to notice.

“They’ve lived down in the dark for so long now that they don’t even _look_ like us anymore. They’ve become something else entirely, and they’re desperate. They’re trying to bridge the gap again, to join both worlds completely so that they can have access to an unlimited food supply.” Yara’s shoulders rose and fell in a sigh that never made it to Ryota’s ears. “And they already know how to do it. That’s why they’ve kidnapped the King.”

“Oh...” Ryota breathed, worry settling like lead in the pit of his stomach. “But they can’t really do it, right? They can’t, can they?”

Yara didn’t answer. Ryota hugged his arms around himself, and asked something else instead.

"How do you know so much about these things?" He'd only mentioned it out of an idle curiosity niggling away in the back of his mind, but he couldn't miss the way Yara's face turned suddenly ashen and for the first time, he refused to meet Ryota's eyes. His friend was silent for a long white, but eventually he slowed their pace to a halt.

"It's... complicated," Yara said softly, taking hold of Ryota's arm and easing him gently forward. Within moments they were mere inches apart, and Ryota's breath caught in his throat, all thought fleeing his mind. His eyelids drooped of their own accord as Yara tugged him closer still, close enough that he could feel the other man's breath on his cheek, and Ryota swallowed reflexively, leaning into the warmth radiating from Yara's body.

"I'm sorry," Yara whispered, every word like a tiny kiss. Ryota's head was spinning from the anticipation alone. "I'm so sorry. I had to. They... they've got my sister."

There was a low, feral growl from further down the passage.

"I'm sorry," Yara said again, and even in the dark Ryota could see his friend's eyes were filled with tears. “I’ll find Tamamori.” Then Yara stepped aside, leaving nothing between Ryota and the creature advancing on them, hiding in the shadows as it moved. Ryota's heart lodged in his throat as Yara ran back the way they'd come, disappearing into the darkness. Leaving him completely, utterly defenceless.

Another growl echoed off the walls, louder than the last. Ryota took a shaky step backwards, too terrified to feel the harsh sting of betrayal, and it pounced.

 

 

Tamamori ran.

He ran until his lungs burned, until his legs felt like they’d give in at any moment, but still it clawed and gouged, fueling the anger blazing inside of him. His fury pushed him on, up and out and through the edges of the storm, further and further from everything he’d come to know and love. Back to where it had all started.

He remembered the path like he’d walked it yesterday, only now he was taking it in leaps and bounds, all but flying down the hillside as the bloodsucking freeloader inside him urged him faster and faster, feeding on the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

He rounded the bend, and felt like he’d run into a wall.

In place of what he’d expected to find was... a wreck.

His temper flared in a scalding flash of white heat as he took in the absolute destruction of the place they’d once sat, together in the shadow, Miyata spread out on the grass next to him with his head in Tamamori’s lap. The place he’d had his first glimpse of what affection really was. He could still remember the tentative way Miyata had laid shaking fingers on his cheek, how his thumb had brushed over his bottom lip, and when Tamamori hadn’t recoiled in disgust, the way he’d leaned in, ever so slowly, and pressed their mouths together.

But now it was gone. The only place they’d ever had to call their own was ruined, destroyed by the storm just like the poison had destroyed Miyata’s body.

Tamamori screamed.

He was going to make them pay.

 

 

The first thing Ryota felt when he came to was, mostly, surprise. When that thing had lunged at him, all filthy, matted fur and rank breath, he'd been convinced that he'd just drawn his last breath. But here he was, still breathing, still alive. But his elation was short lived when he realised what they'd done to him.

He was bound firmly around the ankles and wrists, his limbs throbbing in protest when he tugged at them experimentally. They didn't give an inch, and panic began to settle in, clenching tight around his chest and rising high into his throat. Starting to struggle against the ropes holding him, Ryota tried to shout out into the darkness, but discovered that they'd gagged him too. He still yelled as best he could, the sound coming out muffled and terrified as he fought and yanked against his binds. They held fast, tied with what must have been an inhuman kind of strength, and soon all he'd succeeded in doing was chafing his bare wrists raw and bloody, and screaming himself hoarse.

With a soft, strangled whimper of defeat, Ryota slumped. How long had Yara planned this? _I knew you were one of them right from the start_ , he’d said. Was that why he’d rescued him from the storm, planning to hand him over to these creatures - because that thing he’d caught a glimpse of, that thing could never be anything else - the entire time? Was every word they’d shared, every smile, _everything_ a lie?

"Finally awake, I see."

Ryota started, wincing in pain as his body went rigid. Squinting to try and see anything was just as futile as his fighting had been, and the heavy, black shadows surrounding him just seemed to get darker the more his eyes strained.

"Who's there?" He rasped, words scratching against his abused throat, and coming out thick and muffled around the gag, "What do you want?"

They laughed, rich and deep, the sound calming him with ease, and Ryota felt realisation wash over him.

“You’re the King.”

“And you’re human,” King Domoto said, obviously understanding Ryota's garbled voice. “And if we don’t get out of here, we’ll both be dead.”

“What?” Ryota breathed, the panic he’d so recently calmed from threatening to bubble up again.

Before the King could reply, there was a creak of hinges and rhythmic, thudding footsteps. Something grunted, and Ryota tried to shrink back, only to be reminded that his bonds held him fast. More shuffling followed, enough for two, three, maybe even more of them, and Ryota squeezed his eyes shut against the darkness, struggling anew when he smelled that sour, rancid breath on his face.

“Stop.” It growled, the world barely recognisable, and Ryota froze. He could hear the King scuffling with another of them, until there was some more shuffling and the sharp, pained sound of breath sucked in between clenched teeth. Ryota only had a split second to wonder what had happened because there was a blade on his skin, slicing through his arm like butter. Ryota didn’t have the dignity the King was blessed with, and had no qualms crying out his pain to echo off the walls. He felt something cool press against the flow of blood and hissed, his head automatically turning away from the injured arm.

There was a murmur of sound from across the room, gruff voices all melding together and rising to a strangely melodic pitch, but they broke off as something slammed against the wall and a circle of blindingly bright light burst through the entrance. The creatures all hissed and recoiled, and Ryota hid burning eyes against his arm, whimpering when a fresh knife of pain shot through him.

“Ryota!”

Ryota’s heart soared, and he watched with white-spotted eyes as Yara dropped the lamp next to what he could now see was an actual door, with a handle and two crude, metal hinges. Yara took a step forward, and they all seemed to spring into action. One of the creatures snarled and flew at him, who dropped onto his stomach to send it sailing over his head and crashing into the wall. Before it had even hit the ground, another was already moving, advancing a little more slowly this time, and soon it was joined by a second, and a third, closing in on Yara in a steady circle. They were angry, furious that they'd been interrupted, foaming like rabid dogs as they trapped Yara between them.

The relief Ryota had felt at seeing Yara again quickly faded, replaced by the terrified panic he was beginning to feel so familiar with. He fought, bucking and wrenching at the ropes, but did little more than tear into his already bloody wrists. Woozy from the loss of blood, Ryota's vision began to blur around the edges, but he had to do something, anything to make them stop, and it was like Yara had read his mind when his friend glanced over at him and winked.

Ryota froze, confused, and saw Yara crouch down low, almost pressing himself into the floor. Then he leapt straight upwards with a smooth, feline grace, and landed ten feet away from them. Ten feet closer to him.

There was no time to be amazed, because the King was shouting, struggling harder, making a show of it, Ryota thought. And maybe he was, because the creature that had been draining Ryota's blood into a small, silver bowl turned with a growl, crossing the room to strike an arm across his face. The King’s head snapped back with the force of the blow, and Ryota heard a small cry from behind him.

In the few seconds it took Yara to appear by his side, Ryota saw the feminine figure curled up in the far corner, naked but for the tousled, shining silver hair covering her from view. Her wrists and ankles, covered in scales almost as bright as her hair, were tied together, keeping her in a permanently hunched position. She was peering out from behind her hair through slitted eyes, and even in the shadows, even feeling as dizzy as he was, Ryota could see the hopeful shock written all over her face.

_Chura._

The King was still bucking and yelling, so much so that it took two of them to keep him under control and collect the blood they needed from him. Three more of them had clustered back in the corner with their backs to the chaos, chanting rapidly now, and another was approaching Ryota with a determined stride. Yara snatched up the bowl and tossed it away, the thick, glutinous fluid spilling out over the floor, and the creature hissed and leapt for it instead of him. It only bought them a few more seconds, but it was enough time for Yara to cut Ryota’s binds, a knife pulled from his belt making quick work of the knots and gag.

“Run!” He said firmly, and pushed Ryota towards the entrance at the same moment a wave of nausea rocked him, and he clutched onto Yara’s arm.

"What about your sister?" He asked breathlessly, swallowing convulsively against the need to vomit.

Yara shoved Ryota behind him as the one now clutching the bowl came for him, and punched it in the face hard enough that Ryota heard a sickening crunch.

"Just run!” He shouted, steering Ryota towards the exit. “It’s you they need, get out of here!”

The cluster in the corner had broken apart when they realised one of their captives was getting away, and were headed for the door. Ryota took one last look at Yara, saw the firm decision on his face, and bolted.

He’d barely made it one turn when there was a startlingly familiar growl, and he shot down a passage in the opposite direction. His legs shook and his head spun, but still he ran, twisting left and right through the never-ending maze. He was so conscious of the pounding feet behind him that he didn’t notice the pounding feet _in front_ of him until Tamamori was on him, racing straight past him and tackling the creature chasing him to the ground.

“Go!” He shouted over the sound of bone snapping, and this time, Ryota didn’t hesitate.

 

 

Tamamori let the dead weight of the body fall and immediately took off, even more fired up than before now that he had taken one of them down. Navigating through the labyrinth of tunnels, it was like he’d never left, and it took him barely no time to reach his destination.

Yara was valiantly blocking the door, the space small enough that he only had two or three of them to fight off at a time, but Tamamori knew that even then, he was only holding them back so well because they were starving, weak and dying. Any sympathy he might have felt for them in the past had been consumed by the pain and anger they’d left him with, and he pushed his way through the brawl, using his fists when they didn’t part like water for him.

With all of them clamoring for the door, desperate to get out and retrieve the missing blood to complete their ritual, none of them paid him half a mind as he snatched up Yara’s fallen knife and sliced through Chura’s bonds. The King’s gave way just as easily, and Koichi knotted a piece of them around his arm to slow the bleeding.

After that, it got easy.

Between them, Tamamori and Koichi hauled the creatures back one by one, tossing them like ragdolls and beating them off when they got back up. If any bones broke in the process, all the better. The moment Yara could, he abandoned his place blocking the door and ran to Chura, dropping to his knees in front of her. She threw her arms around him with a choked sob, and he scooped her up, cradling her protectively against his chest.

“Take her somewhere safe,” Koichi ordered, calmly kicking one of them hard enough in the shin that the bone snapped. It shrieked and joined several of its fallen companions on the floor, writhing in pain. Tamamori stood away from the door, dragging one of the creatures with him with an arm around its throat, and Yara didn’t argue.

“Leave.” Tamamori growled as the Koichi approached, and threw the one he was holding to the floor. Carnage surrounded them, not one of the creatures still standing, too weak or broken to do more than crawl. One of them tried for the door, pulling its body and broken legs along by its gnarled hands, and slowly, Tamamori brought his heel down on one of them, just enough to hurt.

The King looked him straight in the eye, then nodded, once. “Do what you must,” he said softly.

Then Tamamori was alone.

And he knew what he had to do.

He pressed down on the hand beneath his boot until it crunched, then released it. He didn’t stop to watch the creature clutch its hand to its chest, nor did he waste time kicking the ones with strength left to move down again. The tall lamp Yara had brought with him had been knocked over in the scuffle, but was still lit, and there was just enough oil left to pour over the ones that were still breathing. He soaked the bonds they'd used to tie his friends up in the pool of oil spilled on the floor, then tossed the ropes in amongst them, deaf to their anguished wails of pain and despair. Every time he looked at one of them, it was Miyata’s face he saw, the wounded flesh of his leg and the way he’d looked in his final moments, expression contorted in unbearable agony. Every time he heard one of them cry out, it was Miyata’s screams he heard ringing in his ears, and every time one of them reached out to try and stop him, it was Miyata’s hand he remembered, reaching for him, trying to comfort him despite everything he was going through himself.

Tamamori kicked the lamp over, stepped out into the tunnel, and from the doorway, he watched them burn.

 

 

The sunshine of this world, Ryota found, was even more beautiful than the sunshine he was used to.

As the news of the King’s safety reached the borders, and with the creatures gone, the storm began to dissipate, until finally it was warm enough to be a midsummer’s day. As if it had the Midas touch, the sun turned everything to gold, making the grass glisten like emeralds and the sky shine blue topaz overhead.

Things weren’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but the land was picking up the fallen pieces it had left behind, and better than anything else they could salvage, they had found hope.

“Is he going to be okay?” Ryota asked softly, glancing over to where Tamamori was huddled against a tree, knees pulled up to his chest. His face was pale and drawn, his feathers losing their rich, bronze shade, and his eyes were so dark they looked almost sunken. He’d wanted to stay inside with Chura - who was severely malnourished but recovering well - but Yokoo had been firm in his decision. Almost as soon as they’d brought him outside, Tamamori had started to shiver despite the blanket around his shoulders, but the air was warmer out here beneath the sun, and they hadn’t wanted to leave him inside when he was still so sensitive. Tamamori had always loved the sunshine, and they hoped the clean, fresh air would do him some good.

“He’ll be fine,” Yokoo promised with a confident smile, looking past Ryota to gaze at Tamamori fondly. “It’ll take some time, after everything he’s been through, but deep down he knows Miyata would only ever want the best for him. He knows he has to get better, and he’d do it even if we weren’t here to help him. All we can do is make it a little bit easier for him.”

“Give him some time, and he’ll be right as rain,” Yara added, and Ryota spared a thought as Yokoo left them to wonder if they weren’t being _too_ positive about it. But despite his worry, he couldn’t help but believe them. Tamamori had fought and won once before, and Ryota had every faith that with his friends around him, he could do it again.

Like the rest of this world, Ryota discovered, Yara was even more magnificent above ground. Freshly washed (as there was no shortage of water now) and bathed in golden sunlight, Yara was like a bright, shining flame, and Ryota was as powerless to him as a tiny moth, living just for that chance to touch something so beautiful.

“Come with me,” Yara murmured into his ear, and Ryota went.

Away from everything, Yara caught Ryota’s good hand in one of his and laced their fingers together, swinging their arms gently between them as they walked. Ryota caught Yara’s eye and the other man winked, quirking his lips in a cheeky smile that made Ryota’s cheeks burn as he grinned bashfully back.

They walked together in a comfortable silence for what felt like an age, gradually leaving the chattering of their companions far behind them. Unlike before, when Ryota had welcomed the noise in the dank darkness of the caves, now it felt good to be away from them, to relax, basking in the quiet and enjoying Yara's company without the need for words. It did feel like they were wandering rather aimlessly, but Ryota soon realised Yara had had a destination in mind all along.

And it took Ryota’s breath away. 

If he’d thought his surroundings had been beautiful before, now they were _spectacular_. Tall, rolling hills sprawling as far as the eye could see, joining so seamlessly with the horizon that Ryota could barely see where one ended and the other began. He almost wanted to shield his eyes from the brightness all around him, colours like he'd never even imagined painting the landscape and making his head spin in wonder.

Then there was the lake, the _lake_ , spread out endlessly before them. Still and flawless, its surface was untouched by the breeze that ruffled his hair, yet still it sparkled and shone like a giant, glistening crystal in the centre of it all.

“Do you like it?”

Ryota's eyes drifted closed and open again in a slow blink, eyelashes dusting his cheeks for the briefest of moments. “It’s amazing,” he breathed, lips parted slightly in wonder.

“It’s your way home,” Yara said, and Ryota tore his eyes away to look at his friend.

“What?”

Yara smiled, but there was a sad edge to it. “It’s the most perfect reflection we have, and the purest source. You want to go back, here’s how you can do it.”

Ryota felt the unspoken ‘if’ at the beginning of that sentence, and a lump formed in his throat when Yara's fingers tightened around his own.

“I don’t belong here,” he said softly, and even though part of him wanted to stay, he knew he had to go back.

Yara turned to face Ryota fully and drew the tips of his fingers gently over the ragged scar that ran along the inside of Ryota’s injured arm. Ryota shivered, and Yara took hold of his other hand. “I’m sorry... for what I did,” he murmured, “I was... I couldn’t...”

Ryota shook his head and pressed their foreheads together, “Don’t be sorry. You came back.”

Yara nodded, nudging Ryota’s nose with his own, and Ryota’s eyelids fluttered.

“I’ll miss you,” He felt Yara whisper, no more than a breath against his cheek.

“Maybe I could come and visit.”

Ryota smiled, and Yara closed the final inches between them, catching the curve of Ryota’s mouth with his own and kissing the smile from it. Ryota’s heart soared, flying higher than any gust of wind could ever take it, and he released Yara’s hands to wrap his arms around his waist instead. Yara’s fingers found his cheek, his hair, the back of his neck, and Ryota melted helplessly into him.

Under the sun, the lake shimmered.

Ryota danced, and Yara danced with him.

 

 

When he woke up, Ryota was being shaken. Again.

“Ryota!”

Ryota grumbled and rolled away from the noise, flailing an arm in the direction of it to make it stop.

“Ow! What the hell?!”

“Ryu?” He asked sleepily, rolling back onto his back and rubbing a hand over his eyes. His mouth tingled, and Ryota touched his fingers to it gently, soft, dream-like kisses lingering in the back of his mind.

“Of course Ryu, were you expecting someone else?” Ryu answered sharply, “What do you think you’re playing at, passing out like that?!”

Ryota didn’t hear worry in Ryu’s voice often, but when he did, even if he was in a bad situation, it never failed to bring a small smile to his face.

He pushed himself upright, resting his back against the mirrored wall of the studio, and felt his head spin. He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead as everything started to come back to him in waves, and Ryota found himself panting at the memory. But when he looked around, he was still in the dance studio, and it was still dark outside.

“What time is it?” He asked, voice still gruff with disuse.

“Just after ten,” Ryu told him, and showed Ryota his watch in case he didn’t believe him. “You’ve only been out for a few minutes, but what the hell! You need to take better care of yourself. If you pass out when Sensei’s around you won’t be allowed to perform. They’ll make you take a whole week of bed rest and I can’t dance opposite Eda! Have you _seen_ the way he dances lately?!”

Ryota laughed and held out a hand for Ryu to pull him to his feet. The arm he could swear he remembered being badly sliced up looked absolutely fine now, despite being a little sore, and bruises he remembered blossoming on his skin were nowhere to be found.

But try as he might, Ryota couldn’t shake the feeling of arms wrapped around him, and breath warm on his lips.

 

 

The day before opening night came around much faster than Ryota had expected.

He knew every step, every turn, could do the whole thing backwards if they asked him, but Ryota knew the real trick to choreography was _not_ thinking about the dance steps. He only felt like he’d really learned a new set of steps once they flowed from him without conscious thought, one after another like a song or a concerto. It was that need for it to be perfect that had kept him at the studio long after everyone else, even Ryu, had gone home to rest.

He was half way through the third number when he felt eyes on the back of his head, and almost tripped over himself. He couldn’t shake the sensation all through the fourth set, but no matter how often he looked around, he was always alone. Shaking out his limbs, he flung himself into the dance once more, but despite his determination, he couldn’t make it to the end. Glancing up towards the mirror one final time, convinced he was still only going to see himself staring back at him, Ryota nearly fell over when he saw a second figure, hunched up behind him.

Their hands were shoved deep into the pockets of their baggy jeans, and they wore a sleeveless, black hooded sweatshirt that kept their face shrouded from the light. 

But Ryota didn’t need to see that face to recognise those arms.

His heart leapt into his throat and he spun around, only to find the studio completely empty. His eyes flickered back and forth, in case he’d been mistaken, but there was nowhere to hide. There was definitely no-one there besides himself.

Blinking, and wondering if he was starting to go crazy, he turned back towards the mirror. The figure was still there, leaning against the wall just behind him, and as Ryota watched, they reached up and lowered their hood.

Yara smirked as their eyes met, and winked.

 


End file.
